


come o north wind

by vilelithe (BroPorrim)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe-Modern, M/M, Sexual Content, questionable career choices
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 12:45:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7684996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroPorrim/pseuds/vilelithe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Wasilla Obituaries, July 23, 2016</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Primula, age 35, and Drogo Baggins, age 35, are survived by their son, Frodo Baggins, age 6. Frodo is now under the care of distant relative, Bilbo Baggins.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	come o north wind

**Author's Note:**

> This is just one big, long dick joke. (Real notes pending.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a party and a stripper.

Thorin’s phone buzzed on his bedside table, jerking him from restful slumber. For all of his life he had been a light sleeper, and he cursed the habit as he groped blindly for his phone. He cursed again when, upon unlocking his phone, he found it unpleasantly bright to his unadjusted eyes. Thorin groaned as he navigated with sleep-clumsy fingers and he squinted against the light while he read the new message. The text was a drunken mess of typos and finger slips, but the message came through loud and clear.

It was nearly one A.M. and his sister had run out of drinks at her bachelorette party. And that just wouldn’t do.

Though he seriously considered rolling over and going back to sleep, Thorin knew he would never hear the end of it if he didn’t come through in her time of need. So up he sat, dressing in yesterday’s clothes with only the moon and his phone flashlight to show him the way.

Thorin crept through the halls, careful to not wake up his nephews nor his roommate, all of whom slept peacefully. This should have been easy, if not for one thing.

Dwalin, his roommate, moonlighted as a long-distance dog sledder in the winter, delivering supplies to remote towns unreachable by roads. So he had dogs. A lot of dogs. Though he was loathe to admit it, Dwalin was a sensitive soul, and he often let the dogs sleep inside. In the dark, it was nearly impossible to tell a husky from a stray shadow. So it was no surprise that Thorin tripped over one.

This, unfortunately, set off a chain reaction of barking and howling as each dog woke up. To anyone who knows huskies, the noise would be unbearable from just one or two. Let alone all twenty-two of them.

The door to Dwalin’s room flung open, slamming into the wall. Dwalin was mostly naked, incredibly hairy, and yelling incomprehensibly as he waved a shotgun at Thorin.

“Dwalin what the _fuck_ ,” Thorin hissed, as though whispering could manage to undo some of the damage. The dogs were still howling, and Dwalin along with them as he sought out the nonexistent home invader. Thorin wondered if Dwalin was actually awake, or if he was managing all of this in his sleep. He made a mental note to remove any ammunition from Dwalin’s room. “It’s me, you fucking psycho. I live here. Now shut up before you—”

“What’s going on?” came a young and bleary voice from the guest room. The door was cracked open, and Fili peered into the hall looking more annoyed that concerned. Behind him, Kili slumbered on in one of the twin beds. Thorin marveled at Kili’s ability to sleep through what just happened, then went to ruffle Fili’s hair.

“I tripped over a dog,” Thorin explained. Fili nodded solemnly.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, keep it down. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“Brat,” said Thorin affectionately.

Fili glared at Thorin for a moment. “I’m telling Mom,” he mumbled sleepily, then closed the door.

Meanwhile, Dwalin seemed to have come to his senses. He busied himself calming the dogs down, which mostly entailed sitting on the floor and letting them pile on him. “I’m going out,” Thorin said. “Dis wants me at her party.”

“No she doesn’t,” said Dwalin, who then got a mouthful of dog tongue.

Thorin scoffed at him and his misfortune. “You’re right. She just wants our alcohol.”

All of the liquor stores were closed by then, or at least all of the liquor stores in driving distance, but Thorin and Dwalin always seemed to have an excess. They’d hardly miss a few bottles, packed safely in a cardboard box for the trip. Naturally, Dis lived across town from him, but Alaska was not known for its large towns, and the trip was only long because the roads had a habit of meandering. Once he arrived, Thorin hauled the box out of the back seat and closed the door with his hip, then carefully maneuvered his way through the storm door and the front door using mostly his elbows.

Inside were Dis, her fiancee, five of their closest friends, and a stripper.

Though Thorin was unsurprised to see a stripper there, he was surprised to find all of the things _this_ stripper wasn’t. He was not tall, nor strikingly handsome, nor remarkable in any way. Indeed at first glance he looked more like a friendly grocer than a man one could describe as _sexy_. Not that Thorin found anyone in particular sexy.

And yet there _was_ something about the stripper, something in his confidence or the way he stood. Thorin saw that he was soft and round at the edges, but that beneath a layer or two of fat he was all abs and pectorals and _probably_ some other muscles.

Much to his dismay, Thorin saw his thighs (hairless, he noted) and for the first time in his life found himself wanting to _touch._ The thought was enough of a shock that Thorin diverted his attention immediately.

The place looked like a bachelorette party had been raging there for an hour or two too long. Precariously balancing the box on his knee, Thorin helped himself to a handful of penis-shaped gummies, then scowling at the vodka aftertaste.

“Thorin!” Dis cried from where she was getting ready to take body shots off the stripper, apparently only having just noticed him. “Thorin’s here, and he brought alcohol!” The stripper sat up and looked Thorin over with a hunger Thorin wasn’t used to. He looked from Thorin to Dis, and then a look of understanding passed over him and he busied himself with the limes.

“Yay Thorin!” Vivi laughed from where she was draped across the couch _and_ Esmerelda Took at the same time. She shook her empty glass at him. “Oh, my hero. You got here just in time. Can you fill me up?”

“Me too!” chorused the rest of the women, most of whom were the respectable parents of Thorin’s students and all of them were absolutely hammered. Bachelorette parties were a rare occurrence for them these days, though, with most of them already married and Thorin wouldn’t ruin their fun.

Though would they really notice if he replaced all of their drinks with pomegranate juice?

He dropped off his load in the kitchen and picked up a tray before returning to the noisy gaggle. Though the music was low, Dis and her fiancé were both loud speakers, as were many of their friends. The stripper was back at it, and Thorin found himself the unfortunate recipient of some good old butt rubbin’. Except it wasn’t good, Thorin really didn’t want this guy rubbing his red-thonged ass on his crotch. 

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” said the guy as he attempted to use his ass and Thorin’s dick to start a fire. He had a jarringly British accent. Thorin struggled to keep both his tray and his difficulty. 

“Are you calling my sister ugly?” Thorin replied, and was finally able to escape while the stripper turned as red as his terrible little thong.

“How are the brides?” Thorin asked when he finally reached Dis, his tray now nearly full of empty cups. She didn’t seem happy to have to stop fondling the stripper’s ass. She looked like her bid for the rare 1856 one cent “Black on Magenta” British Guiana stamp had just been sniped on eBay.

“We’re good. Still gay,” she said. To illustrate, she leaned across the gap between her arm chair and the couch and pawed at Vivi’s breast. “How’re the boys?”

“Asleep, like I should be,” he rolled his eyes and wrested her empty glass from her death-grip. (The only way she held things was in a death-grip, so this was not unusual.) “Dwalin’s there if anything goes wrong. What were you drinking?”

She shrugged. “I don’t remember. Just give me something good.”

“So Pabst?” he asked. Dis threw a pillow at him. He dodged it deftly, but some poor Proudfoot girl took the hit instead.

“Fuck you,” Dis spat. “I said something good. So get me something good. And get something for Red.”

“Red?” Thorin asked. Dis pointed to the stripper. “Right. Of course. Red.”

“Thanks, man. I love you,” she said, groping for his hand. Thorin stepped away, carefully balancing his tray full of empty glasses. “No, come back here and let me express my affections you dick.”

“Drinks first,” said Thorin before absconding to the kitchen and safety. There he took his sweet time finding entirely new glasses. Remembering which glass belonged to whom was a lost cause, and at this point it didn't matter. Thorin guessed that all of them would be asleep within the hour.

His assembly of cups, glasses, and mugs was not as elegant as wine glasses and champagne flutes, but it would serve. Carefully balancing the tray on one hand and gripping the necks of several bottles of various alcohol in the other, he maneuvered back into the living room. Some of the party’s attendants tried at a conversation with him as he poured drinks, but most contented themselves to a hello and a smile.

His sister and her fiancé had managed to fully entertain themselves with the stripper. There were a great many things Thorin would have done to spare him the sight of Rowdy Red’s g-string pushed aside and straining against his generous ass to admit his sister’s thumb into his (bleached) asshole, but alas, nothing but steadfast repression could have saved him then. If any of the other party-goers had a problem with the threesome actively happening in front of them, they didn't show it.

Drinks were poured and, shortly thereafter, delivered. In order to admit Red into the prestigious finger in the booty-ass bitch club, Dis had vacated the armchair, a huge, plush thing that looked absolutely heavenly at that time.

The fact that it was currently occupied was not an obstacle. Rose Boffin squealed in drunken delight as Thorin picked her up, dumped her on the couch (on which Dis and Vivi were busy with both each other and Rowdy fucking Red, who seemed delighted) and stole her seat. She didn’t seem to mind at all.

Thorin thought that he’d bury his nose in his phone until they all passed out and, after making sure no one was in danger of choking on their own vomit, would go home to salvage what sleep he could.

This plan went very well for about ten minutes before his phone was plucked from his hand and he suddenly had a lapful of Rowdy Red the male stripper. He wore a wry, flirtatious smile and precious little else. Thankfully Dis and Vivi had seen fit to replace Red’s namesake thong, but there was not much more to be thankful for. Surprised and unsure what to do with his hands, Thorin threw them up in horrified surrender. He knew he was making the dumbest face imaginable, but he found he wasn’t capable of caring at the moment.

Thirty seconds of radio silence passed in which Thorin's mind unhelpfully provided no solution but to scream. During this time Red had managed to grasp Thorin's shoulders and settle his knees on either side of Thorin’s thighs. For the first time (but not the last) in his life, Thorin experienced a lap dance first hand.

Dis’ friends were laughing, or practically screaming and _wow_ did Thorin not want to be there. A blind panic took over. He braced his hands against Red’s chest (finding it firmer than it looked) and _pushed_. Red fell spectacularly, and Thorin would have felt bad if he hadn’t caught himself before hitting the ground. Thorin made a hasty escape to the kitchen, where he presumed he was safe.

In the kitchen, he paced from counter to counter and fussed with his clothes, trying to straighten them out, trying to make them cover him right. He considered being angry with Dis, because only she would have thought to sicc a stripper on him. But he also knew she didn’t really mean harm, she was only drunk and stupid.

It took some time for Thorin to settle his frayed nerves, and by then the oven clock read that it was nearly two A.M.Thorin made an executive decision that the party was over. Armed with plastic cups and a pitcher full of water, he delved back into the living room. As he dodged discarded party hats and empty wine glasses, he passed out cups of water one by one until everyone, even the stripper, had one. Then, in order to get them to actually drink the water, he raised his glass and said, “a toast.”

“A toast!” Dis repeated, grinning. “To me and my hot wife, yeah?”

Someone tittered, and they all raised their glasses. “To you and your hot wife!”

“And… to Prim,” said Vivi, effectively sobering the mood. “She shoulda been here.”

“To Prim,” everyone chorused, including Thorin. Primula had been a good friend to Dis, and Thorin still taught their son. Thorin hadn't known her or her husband well, but still mourned the loss. The young couple’s death had been a tragedy this town wasn’t used to, and it had rocked them all.

Red sidled up to where Thorin stood on the sidelines, looking at him expectantly, like a dog waiting to be fed. Thorin ignored him. Red moved closer, then cleared his throat, and Thorin realized he couldn’t just ignore the poor guy all night. All morning. When Thorin finally looked down at him, Red looked miserable. Not just tired, or drunk (which were both true,) but seemed physically weighed down by overwhelming melancholy. “Yeah?” Thorin asked. It always seemed patronizing to pity someone, but just then all he could manage was an unpleasant mix of pity and distaste for Red.

“I was wondering if you might be able to drive me home,” said Red with his stupid accent. Thorin wondered if it was fake.

Though he absolutely didn’t want to, Thorin nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

“Thanks. I, well, I took a cab here and wasn’t supposed to stay so long. Only until midnight. But money is money and—“ Thorin could tell this guy was ready to go on equivocating for a while if Thorin let him.

“I already said yes, don’t worry about it. Did my sister pay you?” He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. She can owe me. She already does. Just get your stuff and let’s go, we'll settle the money in the car.”

Dis was already asleep when Thorin went to go say goodbye, her head cradled in Vivienne’s lap. “You driving Red home?” Vivi asked, one hand wound in Dis’ hair and scratching at her scalp. The other she reached for Thorin’s hand with, and pulled him in to kiss his hand.

“Yeah, he’s getting his stuff right now,” Thorin said. Truthfully Red stood by the door, already waiting to leave.

Vivi smiled some dopey drunk smile. “Thanks Thorin. Best brother-to-be. But _go home._ You’ll need the rest, knowing our boys. Drive safe and all.”

“Night, Viv. Go the fuck to sleep,” said Thorin. Then he collected Red at the door and made sure that he didn’t fall on his face on the way to the car.

He did.

“Jiminy _fucking_ cricket. There was _not_ a rock there before,” Red insisted red-faced as he cursed out the invisible rock. Thorin offered him a hand, but he refused it, instead climbing unsteadily to his feet. When Red stumbled again, Thorin didn’t offer, instead steadying him with a hand between his shoulder blades and gently corralling him to the car. “There was no bloody rock, okay?”

“Right,” Thorin said. “There still isn’t. You tripped over nothing, Red.”

“Not my name,” muttered the indignant stripper as he shoved himself into the car.

Thorin sighed and buckled himself in. “What else am I supposed to call you?”

Red’s eyes darkened, and again Thorin saw the same kind of want he saw in single moms at PTO meetings. “Yours,” Red purred.

With a roll of his eyes Thorin pulled out of Dis’ driveway and started down the road to the center of town. “That’s a shit name. Where do you live?” he asked

“ _Dick city._ ”

Thorin scowled at him. “I’ll leave you right here if you want. For the bears.”

“Not the bears!” Red exclaimed, grinning. “I’m near—“ he put his head in his hands and groaned—“I just moved here, I don’t know the bloody street names— Port Street. Port Road?”

“Street was right,” Thorin said and kept on driving.

“You're not a fun guy. You ruined _my_ joke with your dumb dad joke.” He frowned, crossing his arms. Thorin took a good look at him, now dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, and realized he was far younger than Thorin had first suspected. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, when Thorin had placed him around his own age. "Y'know, I thought you were another stripper or an escort or something. When you first came in. So I was like 'fuck yes' because you were hot and sometimes women like watching two guys go hog fucking wild on each other.”

Thorin maintained steady silence.

“That was supposed to be a compliment," Red added. “You look like a really hairy model.”

Silence.

“Like,” Red wolf whistled while Thorin's face heated up. Whether he was embarrassed or angry was a mystery, except no, it wasn't, it was a mix of the two.

“You should probably shut up now.”

“I probably should," Red admitted sheepishly. After that, he did shut up.

A more socially capable person may have struck up a conversation then. There was ample material. Where was he from from? Why had he gone from wherever that was to the Middle of Nowhere, Alaska? Thorin could have least asked what his real name was, but even that didn’t even come to mind. Most of his brainpower was focused on driving, staying awake, and watching for the glowing eyes of deer waiting for the most opportune moment to leap into the path of his car.

When they reached the center of town, where most stores resided, Red perked up. “Wait,” he said. His sudden alertness alarming if Thorin wasn’t so keen on getting rid of him.

“Did I pass the street?”

Red shook his head. “No. I need to go to Walmart.”

“Too bad. I’m not an uber,” Thorin said “Can’t you go in the morning?”

“Well, I undercharged you, you know. I charged like I was only stripping, but I did more than that.” Red paused dramatically.

“No—“

“I fucked your sister.”

Thorin sagged against his seat, resting his forehead on the steering wheel while they were stopped at a red light. He sought out patience in the deep recesses of his heart and found enough to drive again when the light turned green. “I though you were going to let it slide.”

“This isn’t exactly an industry where doing pro-bono work is to any advantage,” Red said. The glowing Walmart sign loomed in the distance, still small but growing larger with each traffic light.

“Pro- _bone_ -o?” Thorin said, grinning cheekily. He didn’t claim to be the type to derive pleasure from an argument, but Red had enough bite to be a fun challenge. Thorin already knew that he would stop at Walmart, because it was a decent thing to do. “What do you even need?”

“Oh, fuck you. It’ll be quick, I can’t send my kid to school without lunch,” Red said, catching Thorin by surprise.

“You have a kid?”

“Is that so hard to imagine?”

“Yeah, you don’t seem the type,” he said. Thorin wasn’t sure what he meant by ‘the type.’ “Does that mean you have a girlfriend or a wife or something? How is she okay with you doing…” Thorin gestured vaguely. “This?”

“Oh, no. I’m single,” he said with a wink. “The boy’s parents died. A shame, really. I’ve come to take care of him.”

“Kind of you,” Thorin said with newfound respect for Red.

“It’s being a decent human being, I think. And here’s the turn for Walmart, thank you very much.”

The Walmart parking lot was empty, its street lights all dark. The windows cast pools of yellow light across the asphalt and Thorin parked right outside the building. 

Red picked up a basket, not a cart, and Thorin took that as a good sign that they wouldn’t be there for long. He followed Red on his circuitous route through Walmart, steadying him when he stumbled. There wasn’t much difference between this and babysitting his nephews, Thorin thought. Often, Red got distracted by the toy aisle or throw pillows in between his detour for dish soap and his deliberate selection of yogurt.

“What would you suggest?” he asked, looking at Thorin like he was an expert. “Papaya is exotic, but vanilla costs less. I wouldn’t want to be frivolous with my _hard_ earned cash.”

“I don’t know, just pick one,” Thorin replied. He didn’t like being reminded of the party, and it had only just ended. The whole thing had been rife with sex, a hot pulse that, to Thorin, was not unlike the throbbing of a paper cut.

Red wrinkled his nose and looked away, apparently offended. “ _Just pick one_ ,” he muttered, mocking Thorin under his breath.

“It’s yogurt,” Thorin said, much to Red’s horror. Then, rather than draw this out, he scanned for the second cheapest yogurt container and roughly shoved it into Red’s basket.

“Watch it!” Red shrilled. “You break it you buy it.”

Thorin resolved to be more careful with Red. The last thing he wanted was to have to pay for the misfortune of yet more time with him. “God forbid.”

“Rude.” As though he had read Thorin’s mind, Red added, “many would scramble over the opportunity to pay for me.”

“God forbid,” Thorin repeated.

Red was not without his charms, but at such an ungodly hour in the morning, listening to him chatter on about whatever little thought flitted through his drunken thoughts. That Red was still tipsy was a testament to something, but Thorin was unsure of what. Still, his accent was charming and the focus to which he bent to his task was admirable. It almost made Thorin feel at peace with following Red like a dog, pushing along a rattling cart.

From Red’s purchases, Thorin inferred that he did not live alone. Among things like razors and toilet paper, Red also picked up the makings of a child’s school lunch like Goldfish crackers and juice boxes.

The thought of Red with a child sat with Thorin like two pieces from different puzzle sets. They fit together, yes, but the images didn’t match. It felt too personal for Thorin, who felt he was better off not getting personal with Red, to ask.

It never came up.

Red paid for his groceries in the cash that Thorin had paid him in. Every bill might as well have been a piece of his own skin for the way Red’s mouth twisted. Thorin stood mutely to the side and pretended to be interested in the cover of _Seventeen_ magazine. He tried to remember what it had been like to be seventeen, but couldn’t.

Thorin forgot to offer to help with Red’s groceries. Red didn’t seem to care and bundled the plastic bags in his lap in the car.

The rest of the drive passed in silence save for Red’s unhelpful directions and a few more awkward attempts at conversation. Eventually they came upon the correct street, across town from Port Street but right next to Pond Road, and Bilbo stopped him in-between two houses set back from the road. “Drive away,” said Red, waving his hands and raising his voice as though Thorin were after his pic-a-nic basket. “I don’t want you knowing where I live.”

“Fine,” said Thorin. They quickly sorted out the matter of payment, and then Thorin was off. It was 4:14 AM and he had two energetic boys to wrangle come morning.

The house was quiet when he pulled in, though he feared a repeat of earlier and was much more careful as he unlocked the door. One of the dogs was asleep on the doormat. “Fuck you and fuck your trap,” Thorin hissed. He could have sworn the dogs did this on purpose. With as much grace as Thorin could muster, he dodged sleeping dog after sleeping dog, finding his way upstairs and into his room.

He fell into the bed like it was the arms of an old, warm friend. He fell asleep like it was an older, warmer friend.

**Author's Note:**

> It is a mess that has had heat applied to it so that it is a bigger, hotter mess.


End file.
